The Black House
by Rogue Tomato
Summary: Abducted. Wounded. Alone. When Gibbs is injured, it may be up to McGee to save them both. But will self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy get in the way? Written for the King Me challenge on NFA.
1. Chapter 1

_Written for the King Me! Challenge on NFA. Also based on an old prompt by Emerald, who graciously allowed me to use it as inspiration for this story._  
**A/N:** Thank you to K9Lasko for her amazing insights and advice.

_~~~NCIS~~~_

When Gibbs woke up this morning, he had not exactly anticipated landing in a situation like this. But that didn't mean he wasn't surprised. No, his years of experience had prepared him for quite a lot, and very little surprised him anymore.

Was his violent abduction unexpected? Absolutely.

But surprising? Not really.

He'd made plenty of enemies over the years, and some had been stupid enough to come after him. Gibbs had his fair share of scrapes and close calls, but he'd always come through relatively unscathed. So when two masked men had jumped him, pistol whipped him, and stuffed him into the trunk of a car, he was fairly certain that he'd make it out of this situation in one piece.

It's not that he was cocky. He was simply confident in his ability to withstand any circumstance and hold out until he could escape, or until his team was able to find him.

The room he currently found himself in was dark, small, and devoid of any furniture. The wallpaper which adorned the room was faded and warped. The hardwood floors were unkempt and dusty. A cast iron radiator sat silently against the wall opposite him. A wooden door, which Gibbs figured led to a small closet, hung from a broken hinge. A single bare bulb in the ceiling buzzed loudly, and cast the room in muted light. The lone window was boarded up. All that Gibbs had seen thus far indicated that he was in a home which was, by all means, abandoned.

The new padlocks on the door and the steel bar on the wall that he found himself handcuffed to were the only signs of recent handiwork. And they weren't exactly welcoming signs at that.

In the hours that had passed since he has woken up here, he has tried, unsuccessfully, to free himself. He has been unable to accomplish anything outside of chafing his wrists and nearly dislocating a thumb. Taking a break from his futile escape attempts, Gibbs sighed and leaned back against the wall, running a mental list of who could have taken him, and why.

So far he has had no contact with his captors outside of the few brief moments when he was attacked in his driveway, so he's had very little to go on. He hasn't been questioned or interrogated. He hasn't spoken a single word to anyone. And while he recognized that isolation was a certain kind of torture, the time alone has given him the opportunity to manage the headache from the knock to his head, as well as formulate a few options for escape.

Through it all, however, he couldn't help but wonder what was happening outside of his little room.

After several more hours of seclusion, with no food or water in sight or anticipated, anger and exhaustion prompted him for more action.

"Hey!" Gibbs shouted. He waited a few beats, and then yelled again. "Hey!"

There was no response, and he began to think that he'd been left here to die a very slow death. He clanged his handcuffs against the bar, hoping to cause enough ruckus to gain someone's attention… be it friend or foe… but nothing happened.

Light seeped through the cracks in the boarded window as the afternoon gave way to early evening. The shadows in the room deepened, and still Gibbs was left alone. His head still hurt. His wrists were raw. The chilly November air outside seeped through the old walls and he shivered. He was nearly resigned to the fact that he was alone in this place when a creak of a loose floorboard caused him to tense, and he waited.

Two men stormed through the door, and there was a silent stare down as captors and prisoner regarded each other. One of the men was at least a foot taller than the other, muscular build, dark skin. The other was lankier, but still built to handle himself in a fight. He wore a gray t-shirt, and Gibbs could see the ink of prison tattoos peeking out from just beyond the sleeves. Dark haired and olive skinned, he carried himself with an air authority, and Gibbs immediately understood that he was the one in charge.

The shorter man narrowed his eyes before whispering to his companion. Before Gibbs had time to prepare, the large man was looming over him and he was backhanded hard across the face.

There was no time to recover from the violent act as Gibbs was backhanded again. A kick to the stomach was next, and he could only curl inward slightly as his arms strained against the secure bar behind him. Beefy fingers ran through his hair before they grabbed hold, and his head was yanked back at an awkward angle. He cast a glare over to the man who stood coolly in the doorway, his facial expression unreadable, before Gibbs was abruptly released.

"Is there a point to this?" Gibbs tersely asked a split moment before he was kicked in the stomach.

"Of course there is, Agent Gibbs." Gibbs recognized the accent, and filed it away as he was hit with another hand across the face. "I'm getting you ready."

Gibbs tensed at that. Spitting blood from a split lip, curiosity got the better of him as he asked, "For what?"

A cold smile was his only reply. Gibbs' head slammed back against the wall as a fist rammed into his face.

_Blackness_.

Gibbs woke up slowly. His head was pounding, and he tensed when he found that he could not move his arms. Memories of the past day flooded back, and he opened his eyes to find that he was no longer cuffed to the wall. He was not even in the same room.

He lifted his head carefully and took in the new space. He was zip tied to a chair that was situated in the center of a large living room. He was facing a sofa, and to his right was a matching, aged loveseat. There were two end tables with two lamps that cast the room in a warm glow.

It was almost homey and comfortable if it wasn't for the fact that it currently served more like a prison than like a home.

Noises from behind him pulled his attention away from the room's furnishings, and he turned his head to see that a door was open, revealing the cool evening air beyond. Sounds of a scuffle reached his ears, and for a brief moment, Gibbs believed that his team had found him. That moment was shattered when there was a final sound of flesh hitting flesh, and one of his captors walked through the door.

Gibbs smirked as a second man followed behind the first, looking a little worse for wear. His clothes were dusty, and he was rubbing absently at his lower back. The smirk fell away when two more individuals entered the home, and the door was shut and locked securely behind them. Gibbs recognized one of them as the man who had beaten him earlier. The muscular man glared at Gibbs as he dragged a hooded figure across the threshold and into the living room, aggressively pushing him down onto the sofa.

Gibbs couldn't help the whoosh of air that escaped his lips. He may not have been able to see the man's face, but he immediately knew who it was.

And his heart sank.

_~~~NCIS~~~_

The abduction of Timothy McGee had been much less violent. No surprise attack. No guns cracked against his face. They took him just outside of NCIS headquarters. His wrists were zip-tied in front of him, and he was simply herded, gently and quietly, into a waiting vehicle, where a black hood was thrust over his head. The ride had been long, and each of Tim's attempts to solicit information from his captors was met with silence. Only once did his repeated questions earn him a fierce jab in the ribs, so he remained quiet during the rest of the journey.

When he heard the car begin to slow, and eventually stop, he figured that he only had one opportunity to escape. Hoping his apparent resignation during the trip had given his captors no reason to suspect him, he allowed himself to be manhandled out of the car.

Tim took a few steps, and once he was sure of his footing, he spun away from the hand gripping his arm and kicked his leg out as he turned. His foot connected with the back knee of the man to his right, and he heard him fall to the ground. Tim wasted no time in snatching the hood off his head, but his hopes of gaining any sort of upper hand was lost when he was tackled from behind. He caught a brief glimpse of a dark structure before he was slammed into the ground.

The fall left him winded, and he was yanked to his feet before he could regain his bearings. A third man had joined them during the brief scuffle, and he was watching Tim carefully before he slowly began to smile. No words were exchanged before he turned around and walked through an open doorway. The man to Tim's left roughly grabbed his arm after hastily shoving the hood back over his head. He was pulled forward and Tim stubbornly dragged his heels across the dirt, and then again when the dirt was replaced with hardwood flooring. Another hard yank on his arm directed him around the room and he was suddenly pushed backward, plopping down on a soft surface.

Tim couldn't see, but he could sense that he wasn't alone. Though his breath was hot and heavy under the hood, he could still hear the breathing and shifting of those around him. Yet seconds ticked by and no one spoke, and it made him uneasy. He shifted slightly and tried to calm his nerves and settle in for the wait. He did not want to give his captors any sort of satisfaction, and he figured remaining silent was the best way to accomplish that goal.

Gibbs, on the other hand, was fuming as he regarded the young man in front of him. Why was McGee here? Of all the scenarios Gibbs had concocted while sitting alone in captivity today, not one of them included his youngest agent. What agenda did these men have that would involve McGee?

Without warning, one of the captors stepped toward McGee. The punch to his face was instant and violent, and he fell sideways onto the soft cushions of the couch.

"Hey!" Gibbs spat as he struggled against his bonds. "You wanna hit something, hit me!"

"Boss?"

Tim was pulled upright again, and the hood was finally yanked off his head. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light of the room, but when they finally did, he discovered that he was face to face with Gibbs. His heart leapt upon seeing his boss alive, but sank when he saw what condition he was in. His lip was bloody. His face was bruised and swollen. And Tim didn't miss the way his boss leaned slightly forward in his chair.

Gibbs was hurt, but he was alive… something that Tim and the rest of the MCRT had been unable to confirm over the past twelve hours.

"Agent McGee, how nice of you to join us."

The voice emanated directly behind Gibbs, and he watched as Tim's eyes glanced back and forth from his face to their captor's. It was so easy to watch as the emotions flickered across McGee's face, and Gibbs was happy to see Tim finally settle on defiance.

"I am Victor Guerrero, and you are here to do something very important for me."

Gibbs tensed, and it finally clicked. _Guerrero._ _Of course._ Now that he had context, the family resemblance was remarkable. The same build. The same elongated nose. And though he had never met the man, Gibbs was well aware of what he was capable of, and what he was after.

"You are here, Agent McGee-"

"You'll never find her, Victor," Gibbs interrupted. "McGee can't help you."

"Can't?" Victor asked with a sly smile before turning his attention back to Tim, whose eyes widened, but he remained silent. "Or won't?"

His voice was slick and oily, and Tim suppressed a shudder. He had no idea what was going on, or what this man expected him to do, but apparently Gibbs knew.

Tim didn't want to be afraid. But he was.

"Can't," Gibbs confirmed, meeting McGee's gaze for a moment, and Tim tried to interpret the silent message. What was his boss trying to tell him? What couldn't he do?

Guerrero pursed his lips and then nodded to the guard Gibbs had not seen before tonight… the one McGee had apparently knocked on his ass outside. The guard returned the nod and stepped forward, and Gibbs sucked in a quick breath of air just before the fist smashed into his face, splitting his lip open again. His vision grayed, and there was an intense ringing in his ears as he fought with unconsciousness.

The second hit landed with as much force as the first, but Gibbs was almost unable to keep himself upright as the chair tilted precariously to the right.

The final hit did him in, and the chair tipped over, carrying Gibbs with it. He wanted… needed… to stay awake for McGee. He'd take the hits, but he didn't want them to turn on Tim next. But the hits were too much, and slamming into the floor with no way of breaking his fall was too much for his body to handle.

The sounds of McGee shouting were the last thing Gibbs heard before he passed out.

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs opened his eyes, but he found that it was too dark to see much of anything. He tried to turn his head, but that simplest of tasks sent a wave of pain crashing over him that he immediately stilled and slammed his eyes shut once again. Gibbs allowed himself a moment… though a small one… to slow his breathing and take stock of his situation.

He had a myriad of injuries, that much was certain. He felt stiff, as though he hadn't moved in quite some time. His head was pounding, but even more concerning was the pain in his chest. He found it hard to breathe evenly, and taking a deep breath was completely out of the question.

A dull throbbing in his hand pulled his attention away from his chest, and he slowly opened his eyes again. He was lying awkwardly on his back, giving him an unobstructed view of the ceiling, though it was still too dark to see much of anything. Very carefully, he arched his neck to the right to look at his hands, which were once again handcuffed to the wall. He narrowed his eyes in the darkness and could just make out his left hand. Two fingers were bent at an awkward angle, very clearly broken.

Gibbs frowned. He didn't remember that happening. How had it happened?

Sighing, he closed his eyes again, trying to recall details of how he'd ended up in this position. _Victor Guerrero._ Though he'd never met the man, he was somewhat familiar with him… more so of his brother, Jorge Guerrero.

Gibbs had led the team that had tracked down Jorge after a several-month-long manhunt. He had been accused, and eventually convicted, of vehicular homicide. He had proclaimed his innocence throughout the trial, and it looked as though he was going to get away with it, before his wife finally fessed up and took the stand.

Her testimony outlined how Jorge had meticulously followed Lance Corporal Janeway for days, blaming him for his Other Than Honorable discharge from the service. Then one evening, he followed behind Janeway's Ford Escape and when they were away from the city, Guerrero forced the SUV off the road. The vehicle flipped several times before coming to a standstill at the bottom of a ditch.

Jorge's wife had wept on the stand when she relived her horror upon finding out that Lance Corporal Janeway had not even been in the car at the time. However, his wife and two sons were killed on impact. He was sentenced to life in prison, and died in a riot two years later.

Guerrero's brother, Victor, had been in prison himself for assault at the time of the trial, though clearly he had been recently released. Gibbs vaguely recalled Director Vance telling him that Guerrero came to visit him in NCIS one day to learn of his brother's case. His questions were innocent at first, and he seemed to have a genuine interest in what had happened. But Leon saw clearly through his façade, and it became clear that his true intention had been to find out where his sister-in-law had moved. When the director wouldn't reveal her location, Victor lost control of himself as he angrily spilled his intent on finding her and punishing her for turning on her husband.

Rachel Guerrero was placed into Witness Protection the following day.

Gibbs thought about that day as he lay on the unforgiving floor. He and his team had been out on another case, so he hadn't been there to witness Guerrero's visit, or subsequent outburst. Clearly he was intent on claiming revenge against those who put his brother in prison, and his sister-in-law was top on his list.

And now he and McGee were here to help him obtain that retribution.

_McGee!_

It hurt, but Gibbs opened his eyes and turned his head in an attempt to find McGee. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, the blackness faded into shadows, which then turned into shapes that Gibbs could finally put names to. Across the room, the white radiator began to take shape, and next to it sat an unmoving shadow.

"Are you okay, McGee?"

No response.

"McGee!"

"Yeah, boss."

Tim's voice was surprisingly strong, but Gibbs' knew the young man too well to know that something was wrong. His voice was strained and held back too much for him to believe that McGee was at 100%. Gibbs wasn't sure how long he'd been out for, but if the muted rays of sunshine breaking through the boarded window was anything to go by, he'd been unconscious for quite some time.

And not knowing what happened during his nap disturbed him.

Gibbs swallowed a moan as he rolled his body onto its side so he could better see McGee, but also to relieve the pain his ribs were causing. His hands were still cuffed to the bar, of course, so his movement was limited at best. Still, once he got situated, he was relatively comfortable… considering.

"You're a terrible liar, McGee," Gibbs said as he finally settled. "What time is it?"

"They took my watch."

"How long was I out?"

"All night."

"What happened?"

McGee shifted uncomfortably and sighed. Not for the first time, Gibbs wished he could see the younger man's face. But with the sun yet to peek over the horizon, and the bulb turned off in their room, the best he could see was McGee's hunched silhouette as he told his story.

"Guerrero… he told me why I'm here. What he wants me to do."

"Find his sister-in-law?"

"Yeah. I guess she's in WitSec. He wants me to hack in and find her."

Gibbs already knew this much. It was what McGee _wasn't_ saying that he wanted to know.

"Did they hurt you?"

McGee looked at him. Through the dim shadows, Gibbs could see his brows furrow for a moment in confusion before he looked away again.

"No, boss. They didn't hurt me."

Gibbs felt some tension leave his body at that revelation. Being out of it for so long… there was no telling what they could have done to McGee.

"What else?"

"After you were… knocked out… they took me to an office. Set me down in front of a computer. Told me to get to work." He shrugged. "I, uh… refused."

"Good," Gibbs replied. "Don't give him what he wants, McGee."

He didn't respond, and eventually the two men fell into a comfortable silence, though Gibbs was sure McGee fell asleep on and off over the next few hours. Gibbs felt he'd already slept enough, so even though his own body was longing for unconsciousness, he couldn't leave McGee alone again.

Though the cracks in the boarded window weren't enough to provide the sun's warmth, it was enough to slowly fill the room with a soft light as the sun arced higher and higher in the sky. Gibbs may not have shown it at the time, but McGee's stoic telling of what had happened worried him. The younger man couldn't lie worth a damn, but one of the many things that had surprised Gibbs over the years about his agent, it was that he could keep a secret.

The idea that McGee was hiding something important took root and sprouted. Gibbs simply could not shake the thought that there was more to the story than McGee was letting on, and it threatened to devour him from the inside. He couldn't bear to make the connection between what his gut was feeling and what McGee's capabilities under torture could be.

He wasn't a rookie anymore, and had proven himself time and time again. And yet…

The extra light finally allowed Gibbs to see McGee a bit better. He was exhausted, that much was clear, but other than that, he looked okay. Gibbs could see the livid bruising on McGee's face, courtesy of the punch he'd received when he'd first arrived. He was relieved to see no other signs that the men had turned on McGee once Gibbs had passed out. He was secured to the radiator with a handcuff around his right wrist, while his left hand…

"I thought you said you weren't hurt!"

McGee started at Gibbs' voice, but quickly settled back against the radiator.

"I'm fine, boss."

"You're left hand is bleeding."

"It's dried."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"McGee…"

Tim recognized the warning, and he sighed.

"It's just a cut. They didn't even do it to me. It's fine, boss, really."

Tim knew his lie wouldn't have fooled anyone, let alone Gibbs, but nothing more was said, and they were quiet once again. Tim bit on the inside of his lip to prevent himself from speaking. There was so much he wanted to say…

The fact that Gibbs couldn't remember was probably a good thing. Tim wasn't sure if he could face that right now. He was already struggling to hold in his guilt… his desire to appear strong just barely overriding the urge to unload his burden.

He figured that was what Gibbs would want. So it's what Tim struggled to do.

"Boss, I… there's something you should know…"

Tim hesitated, not sure how to continue. He wanted to explain how hard it was to watch as his boss was beaten. To listen to the taunting words and serious threats. He wanted to say how many times he'd almost consented to helping each time he'd heard Gibbs struggle to take a single breath. Especially after he'd refused to help them that first time… and Gibbs… _his fingers…_

Gibbs misunderstood McGee's hesitation, however, and threw an incredulous look at his agent.

"You already hacked in and found her, didn't you."

It almost wasn't a question, and Tim's eyes snapped to Gibbs' as his voice cracked with exhaustion and anger.

"No!"

A look of pain and betrayal so profound flashed across Tim's face that Gibbs felt his breath hitch and it stung. Tim no longer maintained eye contact, and Gibbs felt slightly sick as he stared at the hardwood floor and the abyss that now separated the two agents.

"Then what is it? What are you hiding?"

Tim's eyes narrowed as he looked back at his boss, but he didn't immediately reply.

"I need to know, McGee…"

A creak of a floorboard had both men's gaze turning toward the door.

"Listen to me," Gibbs whispered urgently, and Tim could hear every ounce of authority that the other man was trying to slip in. "No matter what happens, do _not_ give in. Do you understand me? Under _no_ circumstances will you hack into that site."

There was no time to respond to the command as the tumblers on the locked door fell away and the door swung open.

Guerrero walked in with one of his thugs close behind him. Gibbs straightened as much as he could, which really wasn't much considering he was fairly certain he had a few broken ribs. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see McGee doing the same. Neither man was willing to show weakness.

Victor eyed Gibbs warily before turning to look at McGee. Gibbs didn't like the scrutinizing look, and he watched as McGee resolutely held the other man's gaze for a moment. The battle of wills was short lived as McGee broke eye contact to look nervously over at Gibbs. Guerrero, however, didn't waver as he finally spoke, walking slowly over to stand directly above the younger agent.

"Your little stunt cost me quite a bit of money, Fed." McGee's eyes flicked back up. "Money I don't exactly have lying around."

McGee shrugged, and Gibbs was stunned at how easily the young man was able to replace his nervousness with determination.

"Sorry about that," he replied with no trace of remorse, and Guerrero laughed.

"I underestimated you, Agent McGee."

A little of McGee's boldness fell away, and Gibbs would have missed it entirely had he not been looking.

"You're not the first," he stated so quietly that Gibbs almost didn't hear it, and he frowned at the accusation in McGee's eyes when he caught his gaze. The young agent blanched, but recovered quickly, the moment of bitterness gone and the mask of determination returned.

"Well," Guerrero bent at the waist and rested his hands on his knees, his face inches away from McGee's, "I won't do that again."

"Nope, you won't, so why don't you let the kid go?" Gibbs said with annoyance, trying to pull Guerrero's attention away from McGee. Once again he found himself in the dark, and he didn't like it. Perhaps antagonizing Guerrero would shed some light on what had happened. "He's not going to help you."

It worked. Guerrero straightened and turned to look at Gibbs.

"Of course he is. He already has."

Gibbs' eyes immediately flicked back to McGee, who must have sensed the gaze and stared, doubly determined, at the back of Guerrero's head. Gibbs didn't think it possible in such a small space, but McGee was actually _avoiding_ him.

The sinking feeling in his gut returned, and Gibbs felt himself being pulled back into that hole of doubt.

It's not that he didn't think McGee was competent. Hell, if that were the case, the agent would never have been put on his team to begin with. But the truth was… McGee was a bit of a wild card. A dark horse. Gibbs knew exactly what to expect from Tony and Ziva in a situation such as this, but not Tim.

Somalia had been a huge turning point for his agent, and Gibbs had never been more proud. Yet Gibbs also knew that suffering for a teammate… a friend… was entirely different than suffering for a complete stranger. Would McGee be able to hold out? _Had_ he refused, as he'd insisted? The look of guilt currently set in his features stated otherwise.

"Look, you have me. I'm the one that put your brother away. McGee had nothing to do with it. He can't help you."

"You keep saying that," Guerrero smiled. "But he can. And he will. That's why you're here, Gibbs. To make sure that your guy does what he's told."

"Dammit, Guerrero!" Gibbs swore as his frustration mounted. "I'm not telling McGee to do anything for you."

"You don't have to!" Gibbs didn't think it was possible, but Guerrero looked even more elated. "How are your fingers, Gibbs?"

Gibbs' frown deepened as he remembered his broken fingers. Guerrero spun around so he was once again facing McGee.

"Your man here, Gibbs, decided to be brave. Busted up my computer the minute he sat in front of it."

Gibbs smiled. _Way to go, McGee…_

"Hurt himself a bit in the process," Guerrero continued, and he suddenly strode forward so he was once again face to face with McGee. He reached out and grabbed the injured hand, and McGee hissed at the pain.

"I'm having the computer replaced, but we both knew he'd just try it again." Another squeeze, and Tim clenched his jaw so tightly he was sure his teeth would shatter.

Guerrero released McGee's hand and once again addressed Gibbs, though he didn't turn around.

"He needs his fingers." Guerrero's icy tone pierced through him. "You do not. Your agent here gave in after the second bone was snapped. Agreed to help me out once the new computer arrives. Didn't you, Agent McGee?"

McGee closed his eyes, and Gibbs sighed. So _that's_ what his agent had been so torn up over. The burden in Gibbs' gut eased slightly, knowing that McGee had been telling the truth… he hadn't broken in to WitSec. McGee's capitulation, though only verbal at the moment, did not bode well for the future. The two of them had to get out of here, and soon.

"So you see, Gibbs… you don't need to _tell_ him to do anything. Hell, you don't even need to be conscious!"

"He can't do it."

"Do you think I'm stupid? Don't you think I did my homework before bringing you here?"

"No, Gibbs is right. I can't do it. I can't find her." Tim lied, latching onto the hope that… that what, exactly? That Guerrero would believe him and let him go to find another geek? The idea was absurd, of course, but he couldn't help himself. He had already foolishly hoped that Gibbs would never find out about how his fingers had been broken, just as he'd foolishly believed his boss would have faith in him to not give in to Guerrero's demands.

So why not latch onto one more crazy fantasy?

"I know exactly what you are capable of, Fed, and I've put up with your lies long enough!" Victor's calm exterior shattered, and he shouted at his man to take Gibbs out of the room.

"You're right, Agent Gibbs. You were the one who found Jorge and put him in prison. And we seem to have some time to kill before your man can get back to work on finding my sister-in-law."

Tim pulled against his restraints, but it was no use. What could he possibly do, anyway? It had already been established that he wasn't going to help Victor find his sister-in-law. He was in no position to help Gibbs, and prevent what was going to happen next.

And he knew what was going to happen next. He could see it in Victor's eyes. But more unnerving was that he could see it in Gibbs' eyes too.

Tim's fear must have finally given him away, because Victor was smiling and Gibbs was fighting against the man pushing him out of the room, and all Tim could do was watch and beg his body to stop shaking.

"Tim…"

He locked eyes with Gibbs, and the command, though unspoken this time, was reissued.

"_No matter what happens, do not give in. Do you understand me? Under no circumstances will you hack into that site."_

Tim didn't want to obey. He wasn't sure if he could bear Gibbs suffering for his own lack of cooperation. But did anyone? Was there ever an agent in the history of agents that enjoyed watching the deliberate pain and torment of a loved one in order to save a complete stranger?

Of course not.

But it had to be done.

Tim set his jaw and nodded, just as Gibbs disappeared from sight and the door was slammed shut behind him.

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

They fell into a routine… a sick and twisted routine, but a routine nonetheless.

Every few hours, one of the men would come and take Gibbs away, leaving Tim alone in overwhelming isolation. Occasionally the sounds of grunts, beatings and shouting punished his ears, and Tim did his best to lock it all away, right alongside his fear, worry and guilt. He knew what was being done to Gibbs probably wasn't as horrible as what his imagination was conjuring, but it didn't make things any easier.

He'd hoped to get a glimpse of him once when he was allowed a visit to the bathroom. But they'd passed no other rooms in the small trek, so Tim had very little to go on except evaluating his boss' condition when he was returned and re-secured to the wall.

Tim thought that last bit was overkill. Gibbs was never in any condition to escape. They'd leave them together in their prison, allowing only enough time for Gibbs to regain consciousness and speak a few words to Tim. Then they would swoop in to take him away again like beady-eyed vultures, content to peel away his resolve like flesh from bone.

Tim was left alone. _Always_ left alone.

The hours came and went, and for Tim, each moment spent in seclusion was more difficult than the last. His mounting guilt threatened to engulf him when he had nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company. He fumed over not being touched while Gibbs bore the brunt of his unwillingness to cooperate. He worried that when they were done with Gibbs, they would move on to him, and then he felt horribly ashamed for being concerned about his well-being while his boss suffered.

But more than anything, the worry of disappointing Gibbs consumed him.

Things had been awkward since Gibbs had voiced his doubt to Tim. No, not doubt… the _opposite_ of doubt. It was Gibbs' _belief_ that Tim had given in so easily in the few hours that he'd been held captive here. The look on his boss' face was not one that he could ignore, or ever forget for that matter. Tim had seen his boss in action too many times to not know _that_ look. It was the look that was given to suspects in interrogation when Gibbs was convinced of their guilt. Tim had been on the receiving end of many of his boss' patented looks… but never that one.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but Tim wasn't surprised.

Hurt? Yes.

Surprised? Not really.

For a long while, Tim wallowed in the knowledge of his boss' perception of him. He ping-ponged back and forth on the precipice of self-doubt and loathing to the peaks of convincing himself that he was good at his job, eventually landing on the singular thought that he knew what he was capable of, even if those around him didn't.

Maybe it was just in his nature to prove people wrong. His father had been the first in a long line. He hoped Gibbs would be the next. And it was that mission that helped Tim get through the hours spent stewing in lonely silence.

Guerrero seemed in no particular hurry to find his sister-in-law. Even more disconcerting was that he seemed fully confident that Tim would eventually give in and hack into WitSec to find her. Whenever Tim was in his presence, the man carried himself with pure certainty and dangerous calm, which only made Tim increasingly more nervous, momentarily forgetting his new-found agenda. It was as though his captor had an ace up his sleeve that he was saving for the perfect opportunity to pull out.

Gibbs wasn't worried. Or if he was, Tim thought, he hid it really well. When he was dragged back to the room, he'd do his best to reassure Tim to stay strong. To not give in. That everything would turn out okay.

Of course, Gibbs didn't use that many words, but Tim could hear the meaning behind what was said.

And very little was being said as it was.

If they thought that Gibbs would return from one of these torture sessions to beg McGee to do what they were asking, they clearly did not know his boss. Yet, Guerrero had been right about one thing. Gibbs didn't have to say anything to have an effect on Tim's actions. The last time his boss was brought back, there was a moment of weakness in which Tim had begged for some water for the injured man.

Surprisingly, his request was granted, but not without a price. Quid pro quo was in full effect, and Tim finally admitted that yes, he _could_ hack into WitSec. He didn't say he _would,_ of course, but Guerrero seemed pleased that the truth was finally out in the open. It was a small victory, of course, but one that Tim didn't relish in giving the man.

Tim was horrified by the pain he saw on Gibbs' face as he was yanked up into a sitting position, and a bottle of water was forced to his lips. He was supposed to be the strong one. The indestructible force of NCIS. Yet now here he was, unable to take a sip of water without sputtering and choking it down. It was like watching a train wreck. Tim hated it, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

And that's when it happened. When everything suddenly became clear.

How many times had Tim relied on Gibbs to save the day? How often had the team leader been the solid rock of the team, keeping a cool head while others panicked? Used his gut and uncanny sense of perfect timing to solve a case? Save a teammate? The list went on and on…

Gibbs, whose presence was usually as powerful as an earthquake, and many times just as destructive, was in no position to do any of that now.

If they had any chance… any hope… of escaping, it would have to be up to Tim.

It was a thought that both invigorated and terrified him. But it was a thought that changed _everything._

_~~~NCIS~~~_

Each time Gibbs woke, it took more effort to do so. He was never fully aware of where he was at first, and it often took McGee's soft voice calling out to him to shake the last vestiges of unconsciousness. When he finally managed to open his eyes fully, he noticed that once again darkness seeped through the boarded window. Another day come and gone. At least this time the room light was kept on.

Without looking over at McGee, Gibbs struggled to sit, eventually settling for a half-lean against the wall. He hated seeing the look on the younger man's face while he fought to do the most basic of tasks. McGee had always put Gibbs on a high pedestal, and he could only imagine how many rungs he'd been knocked down over the past 24 hours.

"You okay, boss?"

Gibbs hummed in reply, finally risking a glance over to his agent. McGee was still cuffed to the radiator, looking much the same as he had each previous time Gibbs woke. There were subtle differences which illustrated that the passage of time had not been easy on him either. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, as was the bruising. His right wrist was raw and irritated from the handcuff.

But there was something new in Tim's expression. It wasn't anything suspicious, as Gibbs had mistakenly assumed earlier, but it wasn't something he could accurately define either.

Gibbs shifted his weight around a bit more to relieve some of the cramping in his legs, and he was surprised to see an empty water bottle near his feet. McGee must have noticed his skeptical look as he eyed it.

"It's okay, boss. You were able to get some water in you earlier. It's not poisoned, or anything."

Gibbs nodded, noticing for the first time that his mouth and throat did not seem as parched as usual. He didn't remember drinking it, but he'd come to accept the missing blocks of time in his memory. He'd had several concussions in the past, and even suffered through worse blackouts than these. He knew he'd have to rely on McGee to fill in the missing pieces for the time being.

"You get any?"

"Uh, no." McGee's stomach growled as he blushed and almost smiled. "No food either."

Another nod before Gibbs continued to work the kinks out of his body, moving on to his wrists before flexing his fingers, momentarily forgetting his broken ones, and he couldn't hold back a quiet groan.

"Boss… I'm sorry…"

Gibbs shook his head. "Not your fault, McGee."

"But, your fingers... I just…"

"What happened after I went missing?"

McGee processed the change in topic for only a moment before launching into the frantic early investigation into Gibbs' disappearance.

"When you didn't show up to work, I did a trace on your phone."

"Still in my driveway?"

"Yeah. We went out to your house… Ziva drove," a small smile graced his lips before he continued. "We didn't find anything. No blood. No signs of forced entry. No witnesses. Just your phone."

"My weapon?"

McGee shook his head. "Didn't find it."

"Keep going."

"Well, without much to go on, we processed the scene and went back to the office. Started looking into old cases, threatening letters you've gotten in the past, the usual. I went through your e-mails. Boss, you really need to clean out your inbox."

"First on my to do list when we get out of here, McGee."

McGee sat up a little straighter. "You think we'll get out of here, boss?"

Gibbs didn't answer.

"Did Guerrero's name come up?"

"No. Who is he anyway, boss? Who his is sister-in-law? Why does he want to find her?"

Gibbs sighed and let his eyes close. He was surprised that Guerrero and his thugs hadn't come for him yet, but was thankful for the reprieve. This was the most he and McGee had spoken to one another since this whole ordeal had started, and he could see that his agent was equally as grateful for the time together.

"I put his brother away, and he died in prison. His sister-in-law, Rachel, helped seal the deal with her testimony."

"He wants revenge."

Gibbs kept his eyes shut, but nodded. They were quiet for a while, each counting down the minutes until Gibbs would be taken away again.

He never told McGee what happened outside of their small room, and McGee never asked. Many times, they'd only need to hit him a few times before he lost consciousness. When he'd wake again, Guerrero was there to whisper in his ear, questioning Gibbs how long he thought his youngest agent would last. Asking Gibbs how many more bones needed to be broken before McGee would give in.

Gibbs finally opened his eyes to look over at McGee, and he silently wondered the same thing.

Yes, Gibbs had made a terrible mistake earlier in assuming McGee had already broken and given in to their demands. And he had no doubt that his agent was working hard to prove himself to Gibbs, and to his captors. He didn't want to continue to doubt McGee's ability to hold out until they could be rescued, but he also needed to be realistic. Chances of escaping were dwindling down each time Gibbs was taken away and returned with more injuries. Gibbs did his best to remain strong for McGee, and the frustration he felt over not being able to do much of anything continued to mount. He knew they'd have to rely on rescue now. And based on what McGee had told him of the team's lack of progress when Gibbs was taken, rescue may be a long time coming.

"How'd they get you?"

McGee seemed surprised at the question, and then embarrassed.

"Uh, outside of work. Tony sent me on a lunch run. Right after I left the Yard, they came out of nowhere. I didn't really have time to react." McGee paused to look at the window. "I did wonder if maybe the team was being targeted. Thought maybe they were taking me to where you were. And when I heard your voice… Well, I was glad to see you." McGee blushed again. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, McGee. I understand."

"No, boss... I'm sorry. What they're doing… I just… I don't understand!" McGee finally looked back at Gibbs, and he was surprised to see a bit of anger there. "Why not just take me if they wanted someone to break into WitSec? Why take you first?"

Gibbs sighed.

"They're using me to get to you."

"Why not just torture me?" McGee nearly shouted. "I mean, look at me. They can't possibly think I'd last longer than you."

"Not all forms of torture are physical, McGee," Gibbs stated firmly. He scooted himself up higher on the wall and turned slightly so he was fully facing the other man. This was important. He needed McGee to understand, because his gut was telling him that there wasn't much time left.

"For you, it's psychological. They're trying to wear you down. Listen, McGee, what I said before," Gibbs began, but before he could finish, the floorboard outside of the room creaked again. Instinctively both men looked toward the door, and moments later it swung open.

Guerrero walked in, followed closely by one of his men. His piercing gaze passed over McGee with little interest before settling on Gibbs.

"No."

The command stopped Guerrero in his tracks, and he spun to face McGee, who was trying to stand, but could only rise to a half-crouch before the chain on his wrist prevented any more movement.

"Leave him alone."

Guerrero smirked before stepping forward so quickly, that McGee didn't see the punch coming. He stumbled, and the side of his head crashed against the radiator with a resounding thud. This marked the first time that Guerrero himself threw a punch, and Gibbs wasn't sure what to make of it. All he knew was that he had to stop it from happening again.

"That's enough!"

Guerrero didn't say anything as he slowly stepped away from a dazed McGee. Nodding to his partner, Gibbs didn't take his eyes off Guerrero as he was uncuffed from the wall and hauled to his feet. Hunched, but on his own two feet, Gibbs glared at the man before walking out of the room under his own power.

_~~~NCIS~~~_

The headache didn't help matters, but Tim tried to keep track of the passing time by devising a means of escape. He had three scenarios already planned out, and was midway through a fourth, when the door opened. Tim was prepared, as he had been each and every previous time before, to see his boss dragged in and handcuffed to the wall.

Only this time, that was not what happened.

Gibbs was carried in and deposited roughly on the floor, and no one bothered securing him to the steel bar. One look at him, and Tim could see why. If he thought Gibbs looked bad before, he'd been very mistaken. Gibbs looked alarmingly still.

Tim was so entranced with his boss' appearance that he hardly noticed Guerrero's hovering presence over his body. The toe of his shoe reached out and pushed the side of Gibbs' body so he rolled onto his back without so much of a twitch of life.

If it weren't for the slow rise and fall of his chest, Tim would have been convinced that Gibbs was dead.

"Nearly there," Guerrero said, as if he'd read Tim's mind. "The computer has been ready for hours, Agent McGee. How much more are you going to let him go through?"

Tim couldn't even acknowledge him. He only continued to monitor Gibbs' breathing.

"How much more can he take?"

Tim tore his eyes away and looked at the other man with anger and hatred.

"I won't do it," Tim said. "I won't lead you to her so you can kill her."

"I'm not going to kill Rachel, Agent McGee," Guerrero laughed. "I'm going to make her watch as I kill her sister."

He paused to lean in closer to Tim.

"She should know what it feels like to lose a sibling. She took my brother away from me. I am going to return the favor."

McGee swallowed as Guerrero reached into his pocket.

"Let's talk about _your_ sister, Agent McGee."

Guerrero held out a picture. It was a photo of Sarah from Tim's wallet. It was an older one… her high school senior portrait. Tim's anger dissolved into horror, and he felt sick as he looked at her smiling face.

"Her name's Sarah, isn't it?" Victor turned the photo around so he was now looking at it. He smiled, and Tim's nausea doubled. "She's beautiful."

He ripped the picture in half and Tim's gaze followed the two pieces as they floated gracefully to the floor.

"And she'll be dead by morning if you don't do what I say."

He swallowed heavily, and closed his eyes. _Not Sarah… Please God, not Sarah…_

His boss' labored breathing was a poignant reminder that this was not a negotiation. And as Tim opened his eyes to look at the torn photo, he realized that no longer was it only Gibbs' life on the line.

"Now, Agent McGee, tell me…" Victor paused long enough for Tim to look back up into his eyes. "Are you ready to cooperate?"

_And there was the ace._

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

Tim sat in front of the computer with complete dread. Breaking into WitSec had taken a considerable less amount of time than he thought it would. He had contained his surprise, however, and had thus far been able to make it look like he was still having trouble.

Guerrero paced around the room with an anxious gait, clearly agitated at McGee's apparent lack of progress. His two bodyguards also stood by, watching their boss with a wary eye while glaring at Tim every time he happened to look their way. He tried to keep his glances at a minimum. Their black looks and side arms that always hung from their belts made him uneasy.

The extra time was unexpected, but it allowed him to put a plan into motion. He silently prayed that his nerves weren't obvious as his fingers flew across the keyboard. Half of what he was doing was for show. The other half was incredibly complicated. While he figured that Guerrero had little-to-no computer experience, Tim still didn't feel comfortable enough to be as bold as to open an e-mail program and send out a cry for help.

He wasn't completely helpless, however.

His mind wandered as he subtly pulled up Rachel's current location. His gut twisted as he thought about Gibbs' reaction to what he was doing. Tim had all-but-promised his boss that he would not give into Guerrero's demands.

In Tim's defense, that was before Sarah's life had been threatened.

Never had he imagined that he'd be forced to choose between two innocent lives. Sarah, who was probably in her dorm room at that very moment, oblivious to her brother's plight… and Rachel, whose only crime was doing the right thing. Neither of them deserved what Guerrero was promising to do, yet he had mere moments to make a decision.

_Protect Sarah._

_Keep Rachel hidden._

Tim was stuck in that vast, terrible moment between being a brother and an agent.

Sighing, Tim got to work. He knew his plan was risky. It was haphazard, and it may not even work, but he had to try. He'd already determined that Gibbs wasn't going to get them out of this. It would have to be up to him.

He could do this.

He had to.

_~~~NCIS~~~_

Gibbs was semi-aware when Tim was brought back to the room and restrained to the radiator. He remained still and quiet, his eyes closed, until he was sure he and his agent were once again alone. Peeking under half-closed lids, McGee's shadowy figure came into focus. The young man seemed to be fidgeting with his cuffs, but his blurry vision prevented him from ascertaining much beyond that. Still, Tim seemed to be in the same condition as he was the last time he saw him, and he closed his eyes in relief.

Gibbs wasn't used to being the one left alone, and the unease he had felt upon waking to find Tim gone weighed heavily on him. He had a new appreciation of what Tim had to have been going through each time Gibbs was out of his sight. He'd feared that Guerrero had finally turned away from him and moved onto McGee. The idea of his agent being physically beaten unsettled him more than he would ever outwardly admit, and he opened his eyes again to reassure himself that McGee was, in fact, okay.

Something on the floor caught his eye, and it was only then that he realized he could freely move to grab it. Gibbs cursed his frail condition, knowing that he was unable to take advantage of no longer being secured to the railing. Just moving his arm out to snatch the small item before him was agony, and he couldn't prevent the small moan which escaped his lips.

"Boss?"

"M'all right," Gibbs wheezed.

McGee didn't respond as Gibbs focused on the small paper in his hand.

"Want to explain this?"

Tim stopped working just long enough to see that Gibbs held half of Sarah's photo in his hand. He shook his head and returned his focus back to the handcuffs.

"Talk to me, McGee."

"I think I've outlived my usefulness."

"What happened?"

Tim ground his teeth and didn't respond. He was nearly there. He just needed a little more time.

"Tim…"

"Boss, please. I can't… I need to do this."

"Did they threaten Sarah?"

McGee's fingers trembled and the small instrument he was using to pick at the lock of his handcuffs fell to the floor. Sighing, he picked it up and began again.

"Did they threaten her, McGee?"

McGee nodded.

"What did you do?"

The question came out with more force than he'd intended, and the harshness of his words caused McGee to wince. Gibbs sighed, knowing that he'd just taken a knife and severed what little that still connected them.

Why was he questioning Tim's integrity? Why was he plagued with this doubt?

Yet, he told himself that this was different than before. He knew that McGee would go to any length to protect his little sister. And the frantic pace at which he was working at freeing himself would seem to point to the fact that _something_ new had transpired.

"McGee…"

"I broke in to WitSec!"

The delicate moment of stunned silence seemed to stretch on forever.

"But I need you to trust me, boss. I… I need you to just trust me that I didn't tell them where Rachel was, okay?"

Tim stopped to look imploringly at Gibbs.

"McGee, I don't…"

"Can you please just trust me right now?"

Gibbs hated the frantic tone in the other man's voice and he could see the desperation in his eyes. He didn't understand what McGee was saying. He broke in, but didn't tell them where Rachel was? Then what exactly did he do?

Gibbs wasn't used to being the one in the dark. Hell, this whole situation was new for him. He usually wasn't the one being forced to implicitly trust someone else for his own survival.

He should have been the one formulating an escape plan.

He should have been the one ensuring his agent's safety.

Yet it was Tim doing all the work, and Gibbs really didn't have a choice.

There were too many questions, but he understood that McGee was not in the right state of mind to answer them. As he looked at the young man, he could see that the sadness had returned, and Gibbs realized that he had remained silent for too long.

"Ah hell, Tim, of course I trust you."

McGee stared past Gibbs and it was as though he didn't believe him. Gibbs held his gaze, wanting him to see the truth of his words.

But he failed.

Tim looked away with a small nod before concentrating once again on the cuffs while Gibbs concentrated on staying awake.

_~~~NCIS~~~_

The self-doubt was back in full force.

Tim ground his teeth in determination as he tried once again to bend his tool at the correct angle. Getting the right leverage was proving to be a bit difficult, but he was running out of time. How long had it been since Guerrero left? If Tim's hunch was correct, then he only had another hour, two at most, before Victor would realize that he'd been duped.

Tim didn't need to imagine what would happen when Victor returned without his sister-in-law. The last thing Guerrero had said before leaving was a promise of a slow and painful death for both Tim and Gibbs should Rachel not be where Tim said she was.

And of course Rachel wasn't where Tim said she was.

After another failed attempt at the handcuff, Tim sighed and looked over at his boss. He was unconscious again; the crumpled image of Sarah's smiling face lying lax in his hand. Tim felt the blunt hand of reality steal what remaining vestiges of hope he'd harbored.

Tim wondered if he'd always been so foolish, and why it had taken him so long to see.

He wasn't Tony. He couldn't smooth talk his way out of situations. Tony was the reliable one. The tough one. The war horse.

Likewise, he wasn't Ziva. He didn't have her prowess or her seemingly endless abilities. Ziva was the ninja. The capable agent.

Even after all these years, he was still the probie in everyone's minds.

Of course Gibbs would assume that he'd given in.

Tim probably could have explained to Gibbs everything he had done, but that would have taken too much time. He was having enough problems as it was breaking himself out of the damn handcuffs that he didn't think he could spare a single moment.

If Gibbs wanted to continue to think the worst of Tim… fine. He could handle it. He didn't have to be happy about it, but he could handle it.

Tim resumed his work on the lock. It was pure luck that he'd found a piece of motherboard from the computer he'd destroyed when he'd first arrived. It was part of a PCI slot… perfect for bending and shaping into the handcuff's lock. And though he hadn't done something like this in quite a while, he was frustrated at the amount of time it was taking him.

Taking a calming breath, Tim slipped the end in again, and lifted. Finding the latch, he moved it slightly, and then…

"Got it!"

Tim took a moment to rub his sore wrist once it was free before crawling over to his boss. Gibbs looked worse up close, and he could only imagine what his internal injuries were. Tim knew he should evaluate his boss before considering moving him, but there wasn't enough time.

Standing, he moved to the door, quietly turning the handle and finding it locked. He leaned his ear against the cool door, listening for any movement, but hearing nothing. Tim wasn't sure if Victor took anyone with him to get Rachel, but he assumed he'd left behind at least one of his men. Tim turned and scanned the room, figuring he had two options.

One, cause enough ruckus to bring the men inside the room, where Tim could hopefully incapacitate them and he and Gibbs could escape through the front door. In his weakened state, he wasn't sure how effective he'd be in hand-to-hand combat, but he would have the element of surprise on his side.

Option two was a more stealthy escape. Tim pushed away from the door and walked over the boarded window, tentatively pulling at one of the beams. The old wood groaned against the movement, but Tim could see the nails straining to hold position on the wall. Smiling, he pulled harder and the nail popped out and danced across the floor.

"Hold on, boss, we'll be out of here in no time."

The flesh on Tim's fingers tore against the time-worn wood, but still he worked quickly and as quietly as possible. But pulling the wood away from the window was impossibly loud, and it wasn't long before he heard someone approaching from the other side of the locked door. Cursing, Tim looked down. He'd only managed to get one board loose… the opening not at all large enough for them to fit through.

It looked as though he'd have to go with option one.

Picking up the discarded board, Tim crept quickly to the opposite wall just as the door swung open. Gripping the wood like a baseball bat, he held his breath and waited until the man was fully in the room.

He jumped out from behind the door, swinging the wood outward with as much force as he could muster. The other man ducked at the last minute and the beam barely grazed his shoulder. The momentum from the swing carried Tim around in a full circle, and he stumbled.

"You little piece of…"

Tim tried to swing out again, but missed by more than a foot. He was quickly losing his strength as the toll of having no food or water the past few days caught up with him, and the other man easily grabbed on to the end of Tim's weapon. He tugged, and Tim was rapidly pulled forward. With speed that Tim didn't think the larger man capable, he quickly twisted the beam outward, causing Tim's already bleeding hands to scrape along the wood and lose their grip.

Tim fumbled forward, and strong arms gripped his, yanking them behind his back and upward with so much force that Tim heard a distinct _pop!_ in his right shoulder. He cried out in pain, and his knees buckled. The man holding him upright let go, and Tim fell to his knees.

Tim clenched his jaw and concentrated on breathing through the pain as his captor prowled around him. He managed to lift his head slightly, and through watery eyes saw that he was kneeling next to Gibbs' prone form. His breath caught as he looked at his boss, hopelessly wishing he was awake… knowing that the Marine would have been able to carry out this escape attempt with ease and skill.

The shrill sound of a cell phone ringing pulled Tim's gaze away from his boss. With a scowl, the man turned away from Tim before pulling a phone from his coat pocket.

"Yeah."

Tim eased himself back on his haunches and onto the balls of his feet, cradling his injured shoulder. If he could only get to that phone, he could call for help. The US Marshalls could already be on their way, but he had no way of knowing if his earlier plan had worked. If he could get his hands on that phone, he could call Tony, have Abby do a trace, and then…

The sick sound of a safety sliding off had Tim frozen in place. Guerrero's goon was off the phone, and with a murderous gleam in his eye, was descending on Tim with a gun.

"You son of a bitch."

"Was that your boss?" Tim asked with a casual flair. "Didn't find Rachel, did he?"

"Where is she?"

"On the other side of the country." Tim was shocked at how strong his own voice sounded. But he figured if he was going to die, he was going to do it with as much smugness over what he'd accomplished as he could.

"Did you honestly think I was going to lead him to her? You're dumber than you look. And trust me, that's quite a feat."

"You'll get what's coming to you," the other man growled with a sneer. "Guerrero is on his way back, and he ain't too happy with you."

"No, I'm sure he isn't."

"In the meantime, you can say goodbye to your friend here."

There was no time to plan. No time to strategize. No time for anything except pure instinct as the man turned slightly to aim his gun at Gibbs. With a primal yell, Tim launched himself forward and tackled him at the knees, pulling the much larger man down. The gun clattered across the floor, and Tim scrambled after it.

It was a mere few inches away when Tim was tackled from behind and he smashed into the ground, face first. Any remaining air he held was whooshed out of him when the weight of the other man landed heavily on top of him. Everything went fuzzy as he gasped for breath. Still, he struggled for the gun. It didn't matter that his vision was fading and he could hardly breathe. He knew the gun was there… _right_ _there_… if he could only reach…

"Looking for this?"

Hot breath slurred in his ear as the cold metal of a barrel was pressed against the base of his neck. Tim instinctively froze. For a moment, there was no movement or sound outside of his harsh breathing and racing heartbeat.

"Too bad Guerrero wants you alive." He chuckled. "Agent Gibbs, however…"

The weight on top of Tim shifted, and the cold pressure on his neck was removed. Tim screamed and lurched his body upward as a single gunshot resonated throughout the small space. His sudden movement caused the other man to fly back and he tripped over Gibbs' sprawled legs. Tim was on top of him in an instant, lashing out with his good arm and landing a few solid punches.

He was weak, but it was enough to daze his captor. The other man lifted the weapon, but Tim grabbed his wrist and with as much strength as he could, twisted. There was a large _crack_ and a scream of pain as the gun fell from the man's lax hand. Tim immediately jumped away and grabbed the weapon before rolling on his back and taking aim.

"You won't kill me, _Fed_."

The man slowly stood, cradling his broken wrist against his chest. He took one step forward, and then another before three shots rang out.

One shot went wide before two hit center mass. The man stumbled a few steps before backing into the wall and sliding down, a slick wet trail of red trailing behind him.

Tim wasn't done. He shakily stood and aimed again, his exhaustion and emotional state causing him to continue to fire as each round slowly leached away his panic. The chamber emptied, but still he pulled the trigger. Again. Again.

"I think he's dead."

The voice was steady, but Tim could easily recognize the pain Gibbs was hiding. Taking a few calming breaths, Tim immediately went to his boss' side. The older man's eyes were barely open, but there was clarity there that Tim was so relieved to see that it nearly brought him to tears.

"Good job, Tim."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face before his eyes slid closed once more. Tim smiled back before half-crawling over to the dead man's still form. Tim swallowed heavily at all the blood, but slid his shaking hand into the man's coat jacket. His heart sank when he found the phone. It was shattered by one of Tim's bullets.

With a heavy sigh, Tim returned to Gibbs' side.

"I'll be right back, boss."

Tim slipped out of the room, quickly clearing the house before returning to the small office and sliding in front of the computer. His hands were still shaking, and he knew his energy was nearly sapped, but he managed to pull up the correct program. Typing one-handed, Tim sent a quick e-mail to Tony, sharing his suspicions of where he and Gibbs were being held, as well as where he had sent Guerrero.

Finally, Tim returned to Gibbs and, gripping his arms, pulled him upright. They took a few faltering steps as Gibbs sagged against him.

"Okay, boss, we gotta go."

Tim flung Gibbs' arm across his shoulders and he hooked his fingers into his belt to drag him out of the room, down the hall, and into the open air. Tim could tell his boss was trying to help propel them forward, but it honestly wasn't much. Still, they made decent progress across the gravel driveway and into the dense forest. Tim risked a glance behind him. The small house was dark… nearly black… and it faded neatly into the darkening landscape beyond.

Focusing forward again, Tim pulled Gibbs further up as they made slow progress among the trees. Tim didn't want to stray too far from the driveway, but they still needed to stay out of sight. Gibbs made a soft sound, and Tim stopped.

"What was that, boss?"

Gibbs' head lifted slightly.

"Where'd ya learn… to break… outta handcuffs?"

"Oh," Tim blushed. "Abby."

It looked as though Gibbs wanted to say more, but Tim began dragging him forward again.

"Don't ask, boss. Just… don't ask."

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5

The pain hit the second McGee had pulled him to his feet. He didn't pass out, but it was a near thing, as McGee had pulled him from the house and into the evening air. After the briefest of conversations with the young agent, Gibbs hadn't been able to find the energy to say anything else as the two men struggled across the driveway and were engulfed under the canopy of the forest.

It was rough going through the dense foliage and darkening skies, and Gibbs tried his best to help. He moaned each time his foot tripped over an exposed root or wayward rock, and Tim apologized each and every time.

They kept going at a steady pace, Tim obviously trying his best to avoid the obstacles he could see. Early on, Gibbs caught snippets of encouraging words from Tim, but eventually the words ran dry and the sounds of their ragged breathing pierced the relative stillness of the night.

It wasn't for several more minutes of staggering through the woods that Tim's legs gave out and he fell to the ground, pulling Gibbs down with him. Knees wet from the soggy earth and his chest burning from the exertion, Gibbs was grateful for the reprieve. And upon looking at his agent and the pallor of his face, he could see that McGee needed a rest as well.

Looking back over his shoulder, the house was no longer visible as dusk completed its descent. Gibbs knew they were still too close to the house, and he could see his unease mirrored on McGee's face. Tim turned to look at Gibbs, who gave him a small nod of permission. Getting back to his feet, he pulled Gibbs up and they began to move parallel to the house. He wished, not for the first time, that he had the strength to speak to McGee. He questioned the direction they were heading and the proximity at which they stayed by the house. But his injuries left him no option except to be led like a lamb by his shepherd.

A few feet in, Gibbs continued to stumble and once again he nearly fell.

"Almost there, boss. Just a little bit further."

Moments later they were settled behind a large clump of trees, with Gibbs propped against the trunk of the largest. McGee immediately began fussing over him, poking his chest and abdomen, and Gibbs brushed his hands away with a grunt. Tim nodded and sat down, leaning against a tree opposite him, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

Gibbs knew that he drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he'd wake and Tim would be pacing in small circles. Other times, he'd be seated across from him again. But each time, Gibbs could tell that he was hurting as he clutched his right arm close to his body.

"We need to set your shoulder, McGee."

Tim stopped his pacing to briefly look into his eyes. The moonlight passing across his face illuminated a look of terror flashing in them before he carefully schooled his features.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, boss?" Tim asked, unable to keep the small tremor out of his voice.

"Yes, McGee, I do," he replied hoarsely. "The longer we wait, the more likely it is that you can permanently damage it. We have to put it back in. Do you understand?"

McGee swallowed hard, but nodded.

"How?"

"Help me up."

Tim eased Gibbs upward, carefully helping him slide back so he was leaning more vertically against the tree. He allowed a few moments to pass to regain his equilibrium. Once the forest stopped spinning around him, he carefully removed his belt and handed it to McGee, who lifted a single, questioning eyebrow.

"Sling for your arm," he clarified. "And for the pain."

McGee's eyes widened, but he nodded.

"Come in closer."

Tim sat on the ground and scooted closer to Gibbs so they were seated face to face. Gibbs leaned forward, and with another glance at Tim, placed his hands around his agent's forearm. With his other hand, Tim folded the belt in two and slipped it in his mouth, clenching his teeth around the leather.

Gibbs nodded and motioned for Tim to wrap his good arm over his shoulder.

"Grab hold of my shirt."

Tim fisted his hand in the material of Gibbs' shirt and closed his eyes as he mentally prepared himself.

"On the count of three. Are you ready?"

"No," came the muffled reply.

Gibbs smiled.

"Alright, here we go. One…"

Gibbs didn't wait and pushed Tim's arm outward, the younger man screaming as he felt his shoulder slip back into place. He immediately felt some relief, but the effects of the painful process still left him clinging to the back of Gibbs' shirt and panting heavily through the leather belt strap. He barely noticed as his arm was gently maneuvered back into his lap.

He was breathing too heavily to hear Gibbs' words of comfort, but eventually sounds returned and he released the belt from his mouth. Gibbs made a loop and maneuvered it over Tim's head, carefully sliding the injured arm through the circle so it rested against his chest.

"Thanks boss."

"Don't mention it, Tim."

Gibbs eased back against the tree, exhausted. Though he had done very little, even the smallest of movements was an exertion. In front of him, Tim sagged, his eyes still closed.

"Tell me what happened."

Tim didn't move, but opened his eyes.

"With what, boss?"

"You broke into WitSec, but you didn't tell them where Rachel was. Well, Guerrero clearly left, so where did you send him?"

"Silver Spring."

Gibbs raised a single eyebrow at that, waiting for Tim to continue.

"The apartment complex across from mine has been empty for weeks. Some sort of major foundation repair or something. I led him there."

"That was a hell of a risk, McGee."

"I know. But it was the only plan I had. After he told me about Sarah… I…"

Tim trailed off, and Gibbs understood. McGee used the skills he had to pull together a plan as best he could. And not just a plan, but a _good_ plan.

"I also figured out where we were and tried to get that information to the Marshals."

Gibbs sat up straighter.

"How'd you do that?"

"Well, when I was taken, we drove for about three hours… I think. And most of the time the sun was in my face. Well, shining through the hood on my face. Which means we were going west. Three hours puts us someplace in West Virginia. I can't pinpoint an exact location, of course, but I think it's a good bet."

Tim stopped suddenly.

"But I didn't take into account local topography. The changes in elevation would change our distance of travel by quite a bit. What if I was wrong?"

"McGee."

"Yes, boss?"

"How did you get information to the Marshals?"

"Oh…"

Tim shifted and Gibbs could see him working through something. It was a facial expression he was familiar with… one that told him Tim was trying to figure out a way to simplify his computer skills so Gibbs would understand. He smiled.

"Dumb it down for me, McGee."

"Right. Uh… when I was hacking in, I, uh… left my fingerprints everywhere. Usually when I hack into places, I try to be careful."

"This time you weren't."

"Exactly. They should be able to detect the breach, pinpoint where it came from, and-"

"And send out a team," Gibbs finished.

"Exactly. Well, I hope so, anyway."

"And that's why we're sticking close to the house."

Tim nodded and Gibbs' smile grew. McGee noticed.

"What?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"It's just that… after all these years, you still manage to surprise me, McGee."

"Oh." Tim frowned. "Uh, thanks?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Thank you, Tim."

Silence fell on them both as they settled in for the wait. Gibbs mused over his agent's plan while Tim fretted over its flaws. What if Guerrero arrived before the Marshal's did? Or worse, what if he didn't leave enough evidence behind during his viral break-in? Still, if all that had failed, he had sent an e-mail to Tony. Surely that hadn't failed.

Still, there wasn't much he could do now except wait and see.

Unless… unless he went back to the house to be sure. With Guerrero gone with one of his men, and the second one dead, he could easily slip back in and double-check the network connections. Send another SOS. Verify their location.

Tim looked at Gibbs and sighed. He couldn't leave him behind. What if Guerrero returned and came looking for them?

He just wished Tony was here.

"What was that?"

Tim sat up suddenly, realizing he must have said it out loud.

"Oh, uh…" Gibbs could almost _feel_ Tim blushing. "I was just saying that I wished Tony was here."

"Ah."

"Do you?" Tim asked before he could stop himself.

"What?"

McGee adjusted his body so he was facing Gibbs directly.

"I was just wondering if you wished Tony was here, too."

"No," Gibbs answered immediately.

"Why not?"

Gibbs smiled at Tim's question. It was times like these that he was reminded how young his agent was.

"Because Tony would be talking my ear off. Hell, he would have talked Guerrero's ear off and gotten himself killed in the process."

Tim chuckled before falling silent for a moment.

"And Ziva?"

Gibbs thought about that carefully before answering.

"Ziva… well, Ziva is unpredictable. She acts first, and thinks later." A small pause. "I don't think she could have come up with a plan that was any better than yours, McGee."

Tim smiled.

"Thanks, boss."

More time passed, and with each passing moment, Tim was increasingly plagued by doubt. Why was it taking so long? Where were the Marshals? Where was Tony?

He had to go back to the house and try contacting someone again. He must not have done it right the first time.

Tim stood and crept to Gibbs' side. His boss was asleep… again… but seemed to be okay. Tim hated sneak off like this, but he couldn't wake him. If he did, Gibbs would tell him not to go, and Tim would be forced to obey.

"I'm sorry boss," he whispered, and he crept away.

_~~NCIS~~_

Tim did brief recon of the house before re-entering. While he was certain he would have heard a car returning, he didn't want to take any chances by walking into an ambush. Enough time had passed for Guerrero to return to carry out the vengeance he'd threatened before he left. But the house looked still; the front door still ajar from when McGee and Gibbs had fled.

Tim peeked and crept around every corner until he reached the den where the computer was housed. Confident he was alone, he sat down and began checking the cords and connections. Satisfied all was in order, he reached to turn it on…

… and suddenly stopped, his hand outstretched in midair.

He may not have Gibbs' famous gut, but he _knew_ that something was wrong.

Something was… off.

No… the _computer_ was off, and he clearly remembered not shutting it off in his haste to leave the house behind.

"Agent McGee."

Tim stood quickly and the chair toppled to the floor. Guerrero lurked behind the open door, gun in hand, his aim poised calmly at Tim's chest. He'd been waiting for Tim to return, like a predator stooped in the shadows, waiting for the opportunity to attack its prey.

"You stupid Fed! Did you actually think you'd get away with it?"

Guerrero took a step forward and Tim instinctively took a step back.

"I'm going to kill you."

Another step forward.

"And I'm going to kill Gibbs."

Tim moved back.

"And then I'm going to kill your sister."

Tim made to step back again, but his heel hit the fallen chair, tripping him up and over top of it. Guerrero strode forward, re-adjusting his aim. Tim kicked out at the chair, sending it flying across the floor and knocking it into the other man's legs. He stumbled only for a moment, but it was just enough for Tim to climb to his feet and reach for the gun.

He didn't make it in time.

An explosion of sound rippled through the small room as Tim felt a sudden punch to his gut that left him breathless and sinking to his knees. He could feel the wetness spreading across his abdomen, but he wasn't quite sure how bad it was yet. Falling to his back, he carefully ran his hand along his side, hissing as his fingers brushed against the gaping wound.

His ears still rang from the explosion, yet he could still make out the muted laughter echoing around him.

"Nice try, Agent McGee."

Guerrero stood directly above him and raised the gun towards Tim's temple. He swallowed hard when he recognized that it was Gibbs' gun… the one the team had been unable to locate when Gibbs had initially gone missing.

Tim closed his eyes. He hoped Gibbs wouldn't carry around too much guilt over Tim's death. Or maybe he wouldn't feel any guilt at all. After all, Tim disobeyed a direct order by returning to the black house. Perhaps he deserved to die after leaving Gibbs in the woods… alone. Defenseless.

Another gunshot rang out and Tim's body shuddered. But there was no additional pain, and hope bubbled within him. Could Guerrero have missed?

There was an ominous ringing in his ears, and he couldn't hear much of anything over his harsh breathing. Tim sensed movement, however, and he blinked his eyes open. Double images slowly slid into one figure hovering close above him.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, probie, it's me."

"How…?"

"Just hang tight. Help is on the way."

Tim nodded, though he didn't understand. His eyes started to close, but a sharp pain in his abdomen popped them back open. He looked down to see Tony pushing his over shirt onto his stomach.

"Hurts…"

"A bullet tends to do that."

Tim was tired, sore and cold, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Something told him that sleep was the last thing he should do in a situation such as this, but the allure of unconsciousness was too strong. There, he wouldn't have to worry about the pain. There would be no anxiousness over bleeding out on the floor. He wouldn't have to feel guilty about leaving Gibbs behind…

"Gibbs!" Tim suddenly shouted, leaning upwards and desperately trying to get away from Tony's grasp. "You have to find Gibbs."

"Relax, Tim.."

"No, Tony… Boss… find him."

"Ziva is looking for him, Tim." Tim still wasn't convinced, but Tony smiled. "Hey, if anyone can find Gibbs, it's our ninja, okay?"

Tim leaned back and shook his head, the tears he'd been trying so hard to prevent from falling now making an appearance. He stared hopelessly at the ceiling, regret already consuming him. This hadn't worked out the way he had planned. He was supposed to save Gibbs, not leave him behind.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, probie."

"Sorry."

Tim closed his eyes again.

"No Tim, stay awake."

He shook his head.

"I screwed up, Tony."

Tony responded with something witty, but Tim was finding it too hard to focus. Another wave of pain crashed against him, and he groaned, shutting his eyes against the world, willing sleep to pull him under the surface.

Two warm hands cupped his face and a soft voice reached his ears.

"Stay awake, Tim."

The hands gave his head a small shake, and Tim fought to open his eyes. Tim heard the simple command, but he could also hear the plea behind it. The fear. Through the fog, Gibbs' face swam into clarity and Tim forced a painful smile.

"Boss… You okay?"

"I'm fine, Tim. And you will be too, you got that?"

A sharp ripple of pain had Tim writhing, but still the warm hands stayed, grounding him. Keeping him in the present.

"Boss, I don't think I'm…"

"No, Tim. Nobody's dying today."

"Except Guerrero."

"Well, he had it coming."

Tim let out a strangled laugh, even though nothing about the current situation was funny. He felt himself drifting once more as he struggled to stay awake. Another spike of pain hit his body and Tim groaned, blinking rapidly to clear away the invasion of black spots swarming his vision.

"You made me proud today, son."

Tim gave a small smile as he was robbed the last vestiges of stored energy, and he felt that it was safe to let go now. He could rest peacefully in the knowledge that his job was finished. Tim hadn't given in to Guerrero's demands. Gibbs was okay. Rachel and Sarah were safe. He'd figured out how to be a brother _and_ an agent.

Above him, he could see Gibbs saying something to him, but he could no longer hear the words. It was painful to see the unfamiliar look of panic on his boss' face, and Tim tried desperately to hold his gaze. He opened his mouth to tell Gibbs not to worry. He wasn't going to let him down. He'd stay awake, and make him proud one more time.

But in the end it was out of his control, and he let go.

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _Thank you so much to everyone who alerted, reviewed, and read this story!_

It sounded like a television was on someplace, and he absently wondered if he'd forgotten to turn it off before heading down to the basement. Yet that didn't quite feel right. The voices mumbled in the background… just outside of the point of recognition… but he heard the cadences and rising and falling of individual voices.

Gibbs moved toward them. He couldn't explain it, but they were comforting somehow. The darkness beckoned him, but he resisted… fighting against the pull of slumber… moving away from the fog and towards the light…

"…so childish, Tony."

"Am not, Zee-vah."

His body felt weak and heavy, and he couldn't seem to open his eyes. He held on to vague memories of a black house and trees and an ambulance ride, yet it all seemed disjointed and not his own. Gibbs could feel himself drifting away again, and so he clung to the voices like a preserver.

"Would you please sit down, Tony!"

He heard the shuffling of feet and the creak of a chair nearby.

"Fine. Happy?"

"No, I am not happy."

"Me neither."

"He looks terrible."

"What he and McGee went through was no day on the sand."

"Day at the _beach_, Ziva."

Something horrible had happened… and the mention of McGee's name brought all of the pieces into place. The abduction. The torture. The escape. Gibbs now remembered the forest, and waking up to Ziva kneeling in front of him with a full team of Marshals at her side. Next came the realization that McGee was no longer with him, and the sudden surge of adrenaline that spurred his insistence that Ziva help him back to the house.

That final, horrible image of finding his agent down was the catalyst Gibbs needed to open his eyes.

His eyes felt heavy, but he managed to peel them open for a moment, barely getting a glimpse of his two agents before the harsh brightness of the room forced him to pinch his eyes shut again. There was quick movement around him, and through his closed lids, he sensed a change. Trying again, Gibbs found that the lights had been turned off. Muted rays of sunshine from a singular window left streaks of light across the room, falling on Ziva's blurry form standing at the foot of his bed.

"Boss! You're awake!"

Gibbs' eyes shifted to see Tony walking away from the light switch on the wall.

"How are you feeling?"

The room around him began to clear, and Gibbs began to feel each injury he'd suffered. Breathing, although easier than it had been previously, still felt like a chore. His face felt hot and swollen. His arms and legs ached together in a symphony of pain, and he could feel his heartbeat pulse down through his fingertips.

He tried to speak, but he wasn't sure anything coherent came out as Tony strode over to his bed and hovered into his personal space.

"What was that, boss?"

"McGee…?"

Tony gave a scrutinizing frown and at the foot of the bed, Ziva tensed. Pain… immediate and sharp… pierced through his chest, compressing his heart with a deathly grip as panic seized him.

"Probie? He, uh… well, he's…"

Gibbs closed his eyes as his vision shorted out. He couldn't understand what was happening as his body began shaking. He barely registered Ziva's announcement that she was going to find a doctor as his mind was consumed with images of his young agent bleeding out on the floor in front of him, and his blood boiled in anger.

Anger at Guerrero and his crazy vendetta against a woman who was only doing the right thing. Anger at the men who had dragged Tim into the middle of it all. Anger at Tim for going back to that house alone instead of staying put, where Gibbs could have kept an eye on him.

And it was at that moment that Gibbs finally realized that he wasn't angry.

He was scared.

Despite everything that Gibbs had experienced in that place… isolation, torture, lack of food and water… he had never been truly afraid. He was a Marine. He'd been in dangerous situations in the past, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he could most likely die while out in the field. Yet he would never accept that inevitability for any of the agents on his team. Gibbs worried about Tony and Ziva plenty of times, but they were experienced agents and knew how to take care of themselves.

But McGee was a different story.

Everyone liked McGee, and had since his first day on the team. Agents from other teams would often approach McGee with questions about a case, seeking his advice on stalled searches or electronic trails gone cold. The geeks down in Cybercrimes still called him 'boss' when they crossed paths. Even Vance took an immediate liking to the kid once he took the post as Director. Gibbs knew he was protective of the young man… grumbling each time he agreed to help a fellow agent with their case load or when he'd sneak off to the basement to assist with a new program… but he never stopped it from happening. He was fully aware of how happy McGee was in his work, and the look of pride he carried each time he'd lend a hand to another team was something Gibbs swore he'd never quash.

He had simply passed the feeling of protectiveness off as a side effect of having a rookie on the team. But that was just it…

McGee was no longer a rookie.

Yet, Gibbs discovered, he still treated him like one.

He knew he had expressed doubts to McGee during their time together. Doubts that indisputably led to McGee's question about Gibbs' desire to be with Tony or Ziva instead of him. Yet, despite it all, McGee still overcame everything that was thrown at him and led himself, and Gibbs, to safety.

He had to tell McGee how he felt. Gibbs had to remind him of how proud he was.

But now he was scared that he'd never get that chance.

"Agent Gibbs! You need to calm down."

Senses returned and Gibbs could feel hands pressing down on his shoulders, attempting to pin him to the bed. A man in scrubs loomed above him with a nurse at his side, and he seemed to be threatening him with some sort of syringe.

"Agent Gibbs, if you cannot calm yourself, I will have to sedate you."

Gibbs looked over the doctor's shoulder at Tony and Ziva, who were casting worried glances his way.

"Is he dead, Tony?"

His voice shook, but he was past the point of caring. Gibbs would gladly lay his life down for his agents, but the other way around? Unacceptable.

"No," Tony said as he took a step towards the bed. His answer was calm, but Gibbs could see the fear. "He's in bad shape, but no. He's not dead."

"I want to see him."

"Now, Agent Gibbs, that is not going to happen," the doctor spoke up.

"I want to see my damn agent!"

Sighing, the doctor nodded.

"You can, and you will. But we have some tests to do first. I promise that as soon as those are done, I'll have you taken down to see your man."

_~~~NCIS~~~_

It had been several hours (too many, in Gibbs' opinion) since Gibbs had agreed to be examined in exchange for seeing McGee, and still he felt the tightness in his chest. He ignored it as he was poked, prodded and scanned, grumbling the entire time.

He took his mind off the procedures by interrogating Tony and Ziva for details on their rescue. He smiled when he learned that Tim's plan had worked perfectly. He had managed to effectively alert the Marshals while in their system; his e-mail to Tony simply serving as a confirmation of their whereabouts.

He tried not to cringe upon hearing that Ziva's discovery of Gibbs' unconscious body had been pure, dumb luck. Guerrero's third man had been trudging through the woods, searching for Gibbs and McGee, while his boss hid back in the house. This prompted the group of officers to split up, and Ziva had literally tripped over Gibbs' sprawled legs after tackling the suspect to the ground.

With Gibbs in no position to save himself, and McGee in a battle of his own back in the house, there was no way telling how long it would have taken for Gibbs' body to have been found in the woods. It was a thought that led to several contemplative silences among the group during these long hours in the hospital.

His two agents spent most of their time in his room, but there were moments when they disappeared, and Gibbs knew they were slipping away to visit McGee. He was told that Abby had hardly left Tim's side during his recovery from surgery, and had only voluntarily left when she demanded to be in charge of all of the evidence collected at the house.

Ducky, and even Vance, had stopped by, both of them assuring Gibbs that McGee was recovering as expected, but he refused to accept anything until he could see the young man with his own eyes.

It felt like an eternity had passed before Gibbs found himself in a wheelchair, being wheeled by his senior field agent through the maze of halls to McGee's room. Tony maneuvered the chair close to the head of the bed, locked the chair's brakes, and stepped back.

"You know, I told anyone who would listen that you guys would be okay."

Gibbs looked over at Tony as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed.

"I knew you'd get him out of there, boss."

Gibbs shook his head as he reached out and grasped the slumbering man's wrist.

"Wasn't me, Tony."

"You mean, Probie…?" Tony grinned sheepishly as he shook his head. "Didn't know he had it in him."

"Neither did I," Gibbs replied quietly. "That was our first mistake. We gotta change that."

Tony smiled as he looked from his boss to McGee. He lingered only for a few more minutes before he stood and left, declaring a need for a coffee run. Gibbs didn't move as he studied McGee's still form. One arm was wrapped and strapped to his chest. The bruising on his face had deepened, although the healing process had clearly begun. Gibbs didn't need to see the bandages on the younger man's abdomen to know they were there… covering the terrible gunshot wound.

His agent looked worn and pale, but he was alive, and finally something in Gibbs' chest loosened. He gave McGee's wrist a small squeeze before leaning back in his chair. For the next three days, he only left McGee's bedside to sleep.

_~~~NCIS~~~_

McGee wasn't sure if he was awake or dreaming. It felt familiar… as if he'd been here before. Lying on his back, looking up as the sunlight danced through the forest canopy, he felt tired, but content. And though he couldn't really remember where he had been previously, he was certain that he was happier now than he had been then. Blue sky peeked through the branches as they swayed in the breeze. At times the wind would carry voices to him, and he'd close his eyes and listen as their sweet whispers brought him peace.

_C'mon, Probie… teasing you isn't as fun when you are asleep…_

_McGee, please wake up soon. Tony is driving me catty…_

_Oh, Timmy, you aren't supposed to get hurt! I brought Bert for you…_

_Timothy, did I ever tell you about the time…_

And always, the most constant… _You're doing great, McGee... Take your time, Tim... We'll be here when you wake up..._

Time passed. The light and warmth faded, and though he was certain that he'd slept, he felt more tired… not less. He struggled when the darkness came, sensing a presence with him that he thought he'd escaped. Shadowy fingers crept from the gloom and grabbed at him, pulling him further and further away from the voices. He fought against it, but with waning strength, he was unable to do much. He needed help.

Desperately, he called out to the voices, praying they were still with him. At first, there was nothing, and Tim panicked. He lashed out against the vice which gripped him, dragging him further down. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He was giving up…

… until a firm voice called out to him. He stopped struggling to listen. Again the voice called out for him, and Tim reached out, grasping at air until it latched onto something solid, and he pulled himself out of the panic and disorientation.

"Easy, Tim."

Tim's eyes popped open to a view of a blurred, pale ceiling. Weak, confused, and in pain, a stifled sob of a breath escaped and he clenched his hands into fists to ride out the agony he was feeling.

"I'm gonna need that hand, Tim."

Tim blinked away the tears and fog as his view of the ceiling was blocked by Gibbs' face as it appeared above him. He blinked a few more times, thinking it would wipe the rare look of fear off his boss' face.

"B'ss?"

There was a small squeeze to his right hand, it was only then that he realized his fist was closed around another hand. He lessened his grip, but not too much… desperate for the contact that kept the darkness away.

"It's good to see you, Tim. But you need to rest more."

Tim tried to shake his head, but was only able to pull off a slight look of panic. He tried to breathe through the pain, not wanting it to carry him away to the darkness and nightmare that had plagued him before. He was vaguely aware that his body was shaking and there was a new flurry of activity around him.

"Relax, Tim. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

There was new warmth that began in his arm and spread out through his body. Never one to disobey his boss, Tim closed his eyes and slept, not once relinquishing his hold on Gibbs.

_~~~NCIS~~~_

Tim slept. A lot. He found it quite frustrating, actually, to fall asleep while talking to Abby, only to wake up and find Tony in her place. It was disorientating, but he was reassured that it was all a part of the recovery process.

Gibbs was also a puzzling part of McGee's recovery. The man rarely left Tim's side, which he found both comforting and odd. Like their time spent together in the black house, the two men didn't speak much. Tim was past the point of feeling uncomfortable about it, but the new, constant, presence of his boss still took some adjustment.

Finally, one evening when everyone else had left and Gibbs had once again bucked the advice of his doctors and stayed behind, Tim asked the question Gibbs knew he would eventually asked… and had been waiting for.

"Why are you still here?"

Gibbs merely raised an eyebrow at the question.

"I mean, boss… it's great that you're here. I, uh… appreciate it. But wouldn't you feel better if you were in your own room? That chair can't be comfortable, and I know your ribs are still healing, and…"

"McGee?"

"Yes boss?"

"What are you really asking me?"

Tim looked away, blushing.

"I just… well, I uh…"

"Spit it out, Tim."

"Haven't you suffered enough already on my account?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes a moment, but he didn't look surprised at all by the question. Leaning forward, he fixed McGee with a steely look.

"You think I'm suffering by sitting here with you?"

"Yes! Well, no. Maybe? It's just that…" Tim sighed and looked back at Gibbs. "I'm fine boss. You don't need to look out for me."

"I know that."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because we need to talk."

Tim tensed as scenarios ran wild in his head. Gibbs smiled as he sensed Tim's panic.

"Relax, McGee."

Tim blushed and smiled a little, but didn't ease up. He watched as Gibbs shifted position in his chair… still moving quite gingerly after their ordeal. He looked tired and more shaken than Tim had ever seen him before, and he felt irrationally guilty over any part of it he may have caused.

"I've had time to think about how I treated you while Guerrero had us."

Tim was confused.

"Boss, I don't…"

"I overreacted to everything you did. I… I doubted you, Tim."

Tim held his breath. He wasn't ready for this… whatever _this_ was. He looked away again and the sadness crept back into his visage.

"It's okay, boss."

"No, it's not okay. And you're still a terrible liar, McGee."

"I know!" Tim shouted, and he was surprised at his own vehemence.

Silence spread between them, apart from the beeping and whirring of the monitors still attached to Tim. He was just so tired. Tired of the volleying of his emotions this past week. The lows had been hard on his self-confidence… so much so that he'd risked his life going back to that hellish home to make sure his initial plan had worked. Only to fall right in to Guerrero's cold arms for vengeance.

He was well aware of his weaknesses and shortcomings. He didn't need to be reminded of them.

But what of his strengths? Wasn't it he who alerted the Marshal's to their location? Didn't he send Guerrero off on a fool's errand while saving himself, and his boss?

"No, it's okay boss. I understand," McGee continued in a raspy voice. "You reacted like you should have."

"Maybe," Gibbs replied as he shook his head. "But I can't help but wonder if my reaction would have been different if it had been Tony or Ziva in that room with me."

"Probably," Tim mumbled.

"And why do you think that is, Tim?"

"Because you trust them more than you trust me!" Tim shouted. His eyes reflected that which he seemed so certain of. Even now, Gibbs caught the hurt that he'd caused him.

"That's not true."

"No?"

"No," Gibbs replied calmly.

"Then why do you treat me differently than Tony and Ziva?"

"Because I think of you differently than Tony and Ziva."

"But why?"

Gibbs sighed and leaned back in his chair. Tim's unassuming question was one that he'd been spending a lot of time over these past few days thinking about. And it wasn't a question that was easily answered. But he knew that wouldn't be good enough for Tim. He needed… and deserved… an explanation. Gibbs only hoped that the one he had to give was adequate to fix the rift that this ordeal had caused.

"You came to me as a rookie…"

"So did Ziva!"

"Do I look like I'm finished, McGee?"

Tim dropped his eyes.

"No."

"You were so young and wide-eyed and eager to please. And from the day that I met you, I've always felt more… protective of you. Much more than Tony and Ziva."

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but clicked it shut when Gibbs quickly moved forward and gave his head a slight head-tap. Tim rolled his eyes and frowned.

"Still not done, McGee. I know that was a long time ago, and you've grown so much as an agent, and as a man. You know it. And I know it. And now… I need to… let you go."

Tim gulped and the panic was back.

"Let me… go?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"You're not fired, Tim. I mean let you go and be the agent you already are. My overprotectiveness has held you back for long enough."

There was a knock at the door and before Tim could acknowledge his boss' apology, it was flung open and the scent of takeout filled the air.

"Who's hungry? Oh, hey, boss," Tony acted surprised, as if Gibbs hadn't been in McGee's room more than he'd been in his own for the past three days. Plopping the bags down on a nearby chair, he paused when removing his coat, sensing the tension in the air.

"Is everything okay, boss?"

Gibbs turned to look at Tim.

"I don't know. McGee?"

Tim held his boss' gaze for a moment. The older man held it and a moment of understanding and forgiveness passed between them. Tim smiled and Gibbs nodded.

"Yeah, Tony. Everything is great."

"Good," Tony grinned before clapping his hands together. "I brought food!"

As Tony passed out the square, plastic containers, babbling the entire time about his day, Tim felt as though a huge weight had been lifted. He had no pie-in-the-sky expectations that things would change overnight between he and Gibbs. But something new had been acknowledged, and that had to count toward something.

Honestly, Thai food wasn't really Tim's favorite, but he was pretty sure that what Tony brought into his hospital room that evening was the best meal he'd eaten in his entire life.

**END.**


End file.
